Early 1993

"I don't understand. I mean, am I so hard to live with? Is this why I don't have a boyfriend?" Monica was definitely wallowing in self-pity, not even worried about showing that much vulnerability in front of Chandler. She had been completely vulnerable in front of him before, but for the couple of months she'd dated Kip, she could feel they had become a little more distant. She could understand why.

"No! You don't have a boyfriend because..." She looked at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation that would solve this big mystery that was her constant loneliness. "I don't- I don't know why you don't have a boyfriend. You should have a boyfriend."

He said that so truthfully Monica didn't even urge him to come up with a valid reason, being left with no option other than agreement.

"Well, I think so."

He chuckled at that. "Oh, come here." Getting closer to where she was, he pulled her into a tight hug as she wrapped her arms around his waist, hands clinging onto his back. "Listen, you are one of my favorite people and the most beautiful woman I've ever known in real life."

That made Monica smile before she closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. Chandler was a great friend when he wasn't making jokes about everything. He frequently crossed the line between being a supportive friend and a complete jackass, but for some unknown reason, he had always managed to work that line well when it came to her. Racking through her memories, she couldn't really remember any moment when she had been seriously depressed that had become a joke for him. Even if there had been sarcasm involved (it was an essential part of his way of communicating, she thought), he'd managed to say the right thing to make her feel loved and comforted, just like he had done just now.

Aaaah, he smells so good. Monica secretly admired the fact that he always emanated cleanliness, exuding scents that one might find too feminine. She found them great. His clothes were always spotless, his skin always smelt like soap, his breath always minty fresh, and hugging him always felt very good. He was a very soft man – he didn't like that feature about him, but she loved it.

While being protected in his comfortable arms, her mind brought her back to two particular past memories. One of them from two years earlier, the night Ross had announced his engagement. She remembered feeling terrible about it and sharing her horrible, jealous feelings with Chandler in this very apartment, both surrounded by dim lights and a lot of alcohol. That night they had almost kissed (something they had silently agreed to never ever talk about again, leading life as if that little moment they'd shared had never happened).

The other memory was more recent, from just a couple of months earlier, after The Break Up had happened. Kip had asked her out the same day they had met, but it had taken them a while to start a relationship. The crazy passion that had appeared out of the blue had faded away very quickly as soon as they'd noticed they'd had nothing in common. Also, despite being very charming, Kip was actually a very dubious man. Monica had noticed some lying in several different situations – something she'd chosen to keep to herself for two reasons. First of all, for finding that too humiliating to share; second of all, for fear of turning her friends, who had been his friends too, against him. Turns out she'd never had to tell anything to anyone. After a month of trying to avoid him, the gang had unintendedly stopped seeing him too. She'd never known she'd had such loyal friends up until that point. Even Chandler, the roommate, the male roommate, the potential candidate for Kip's best friend position; even he had started hanging out much more in her apartment, leaving Kip alone most of the time. When Kip had moved out, Monica had thought it had been because of the pain of getting phased out by his own friends. Little had she known, he'd actually run off to marry another woman. Somehow he'd managed to meet someone, fall in love and get engaged in less than two months after they'd broken up – or maybe he'd been with another woman behind her back before; Monica would never be able to find out. The group had tried their best to keep that information from her, but she'd heard it through the grapevine anyway. Chandler had been the unlucky one who had dropped by the moment she had been crying over her new discovery. Visibly uncomfortable by seeing her in such a terrible state, Chandler had remained speechless for a while, looking as if he'd wanted to run away and hide until she'd felt better by herself, but, at the same, totally aware of the fact that he couldn't have done that. He had stayed, hugging her tightly, letting her tears soak up his shirt, choosing to stay silent the whole time, allowing her to let all the sorrow out before offering a beer and only then drinking with her until she had been well enough to hear some crude jokes about her ex.

Chandler was never regarded as an amazing friend, and those moments were not as frequent as they used to be when they were in college, but Monica knew that in his weird, dysfunctional way, he did his best to support his friends. She knew he thought of her as a very important part of his life, and all the sweet things that left his mouth when he tried to comfort her came straight from his heart – which would explain why they were always so chandler-like yet very effective in soothing her.

When she came back to her senses, they were still wrapped around each other. She kept her eyes closed, reveling in the feeling of being hugged by one of her favorite people too.

She heard him make a sound that could easily be described as a moan, which made her know that he was, too, getting a little carried away by the moment. Chandler had always been the reasonable one in dangerous situations like that; Monica expected him to kill the mood that could lead to something else any time soon. She didn't know how he would do it, but she was certain he would eventually say something wrong with the very intention of stopping whatever was happening.

"Hmmm, this is nice."

"I know, it is, isn't it?"

"No, I mean it, this feels really good. Is it a hundred percent cotton?"

Monica felt like laughing out loud at his creativity, but only allowed herself a soft chuckle against his chest, pulling her head back to look at him. "Yeah! And I got it on sale, too."

"I mean, it looks nubby but... but it's not." He could be so cute sometimes; she had to give him that. And then they finally let go of each other. "Anyway, I should go. One of the lifeguards was just about to dismantle a nuclear device."

"Well, if you wanna get a drink later, we can."

"Oh yeah, that sounds great." He was about to leave for good when he suddenly turned around to look at her again. "Oh, and listen, it's- it's gonna be..."

"I know." Indeed, she knew. "Thanks."

He pointed at her while leaving, and she pointed at him back, feeling so much better than before. Maybe she wasn't the easiest person to deal with; maybe her issues got the best of her sometimes; maybe she got carried away by her own neurosis and obsessions. Monica would never deny any of that. But she had this close friend for how long now? Five years? And they were still very close – she was one of his favorite people, he'd said so himself more than once! Maybe that meant she wouldn't be doomed to loneliness, right? There were people who were able to be around her without finding it plain torture. Maybe all Phoebe needed was some time apart so they could be friends again, supporting each other and cherishing the strong connection they had built while living together.

And she didn't have a boyfriend because… Well, she didn't know why she didn't have a boyfriend. Maybe it was just a matter of luck, after all. She got dressed and thought about the new roommate. Joey, was it? He had found her attractive, right? Maybe he was a little crazy, but he definitely wanted her. Speaking of which, Chandler left without the beers. The drink for later could come earlier.

Monica left her bedroom, heading for the kitchen to get three bottles of beer and walked to the apartment across the hall. She knocked on the door tentatively, being received by a surprised Chandler.

"You, um… you forgot the beer." Her smile was a little embarrassed as she steeled herself against facing that Joey guy again. Chandler was completely oblivious.

"Sure! Come in." Chandler gestured towards the man sitting in the couch, "Hey, Joe. This is Monica Geller. Monica, this is Joey Tribbiani."

Joey was startled by the sudden introduction, getting up in a hurry and once more getting a head rush in front of the same girl. Monica could see him cursing something in a different language (was it really Italian?) in a low whisper, and she chuckled a little at how he looked like a cranky little child while doing that.

"I- Um, we, um… We met before."

"You did?" Chandler was confused.

"Okay, why don't we sit down and open these bottles?" Monica offered. "We have a little story for you."


Chandler looked at them with a shocked expression; Monica got a kick out of it. Now that the horrifying stripping moment had passed and they were retelling what happened with alcohol involved, it didn't sound that bad anymore. It was actually pretty funny.

If she ever felt attracted to this Joey guy, she was sure the feeling was dead and buried, six feet under (Well, he's still very cute. Also, he has amazing arms, doesn't he? She could appreciate that, nobody needed to know).

"How many times have women invited you over for a drink with the intention of having sex?" Chandler's words carried an equal amount of horror and awe, Monica could tell.

"Well, I kinda lost count." Joey answered with a smirk. Monica rolled her eyes, kind of wanting to beat the smug out of his face. (Okay, not so cute anymore, she thought).

"I mean it when I say that something like this could never happen to anyone I know…" Monica said before bringing the bottle to her lips.

Joey looked embarrassed again. It was really amusing watching him – he was a rugged guy, with broad shoulders, all macho, an Al Pacino wannabe, assuming invitations for drinks meant invitations for sex, but somehow he looked almost innocent while getting stared at by the two people talking to (and undeniably judging) him. Monica smiled softly at his peculiar behavior – she looked at Chandler for a second and could see by his cynical eyes and hanging smile that he had similar thoughts about his new roommate. Monica predicted those two would become real friends.

"Hey, um, I don't know if Chandler told you. There's a bar downstairs. Really great place, but it's getting closed down soon to become a coffeehouse." Monica grimaced at that.

"Ugh. Bummer, huh?" Joey replied, curiosity on his features.

"Do you wanna go there while we still can? I guess it must be closed by now, but the owner sometimes lets us have the key. Phoebe might be there. Maybe Ross too!"

"Oh yeah. You need to meet the rest of the gang."

The Italian man looked like a child again, sporting a very excited smile, pouring the rest of the drink into his mouth before standing up, ready to go.

Monica and Chandler exchanged a look, grinning at his excitement.


"My wife's a lesbian." Ross's voice sounded thick with misery; Monica felt terrible just by looking at him.

"Cool!" Joey said out loud with a ridiculously enthusiastic face. Really? First he strips for me, then he congratulates Ross on his wife's newfound sexuality. What's next? Is he going to laugh when Phoebe mentions her dead mother? Is he going to assume Chandler is gay? Monica couldn't believe this guy.

"Ross, Joey. Joey, Ross." Ross and Joey just shook hands after Chandler's pained introduction.

Chandler and Monica were both concerned about a possible terrible first impression, but Ross just greeted the new guy, probably too miserable to understand what he'd meant. Monica gave Phoebe a surreptitious glance, scared of finding annoyance in her friend's face; she was met with a soft smile instead. When she turned to Chandler, he had been watching the silent interaction between the two girls with a grin too, wiggling his eyebrows, trying to communicate with no words. "See? Things will be okay", Monica read from the unvoiced remark.

Yeah, things would be okay.